


More Secrets we tell the Forest

by Red Dead Intervention (AcademySenseiIruka)



Series: The Secrets we tell the Forest [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Whump, Canon-Typical Violence, Charthur, Charthur slowburn, Depressed Arthur Morgan, Dutch Being Dutch, Eventual Relationships, Everyone lives, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Historical, Historical Figures, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, Slow Burn, TB what TB?, Whump, no TB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcademySenseiIruka/pseuds/Red%20Dead%20Intervention
Summary: Arthur has more secrets to tell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of Secrets we Tell the Forest. Originally I was going to make this chapter five but changed m mind because the tone of this fick will be less humorous. Not wishing to disrupt the flow of that story, I opted to make this a sequel.
> 
> in other words...
> 
> You kinda need to read part one of this to understand what's going on but if not, just know Micah is gone and the camp is... someplace in a forest??? (even I don't know anymore)

"I'm Afraid you've got Tuberculosis."

Arthur's head pounded to the rhythm of those words. The doctor's back turned to him. Perhaps giving him privacy as Arthur slowly began to comprehend the gravity of those words.

"I'm really sorry for you son, it's a hell of a thing." 

He left Saint-Denis in a daze. His body shuddering under the convulsing strain of his coughing fit. He was only partially aware he was headed towards camp, mind shut off, only working off muscle memory.

A stranger cursed at him. Yelled something he didn't quite catch but it rolled off him like water on glass.

"God Arthur, I almost shot you." Lenny was saying. When had he made it back to camp? "Why didn't you answer me?"

"what?"

"When I asked who it was just now?" The boy stood next to his boot, gun at the ready, brow pinched in concern. "Arthur, are you ok?"

"Eh, yeah." he lied, a well-established reflex kicking in. "Just tired is all." He ignored the scowl as he maneuvered his horse to the hitching post.

He swung his leg down and was about to turn to his tent when a sentimental part of him automatically pulled out a brush and began cleaning his "best girl". He cooed at her as he gently patted her between strokes. She nickered in appreciation, preening at the attention.

He felt numb as he pulled out an oatcake. Velvety lips teased the edges of the cake experimentally before it was happily excepted. "Good girl" he whispered, then he turned back to his tent.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lenny still watching him. Puzzled expression cast over his shoulder.

Arthur ignored it.

He felt ten years older and 70 pounds heavier climbing into his rickety old cot. He tossed his hat on the nightstand and waited for sleep to come.

But it didn't.

He watched as dawn slowly crept in. Morning light casting shadowy patterns from tree branches, waving gently on the ceiling of his tent.

He coughed again. Chest burning, a painful reminder of what he'd just been told.

White death, consumption, Tuberculosis. He was dying.

He listened to the sounds of the waking camp. The chickens clucking, the rustling of the leaves, someone snored. A pot was knocked over and a newspaper was opened. Gravely footsteps began passing from one end of the camp to the other and soft voices were peppered intermittently through it all.

Finally, he slept.

He dreamt of a golden deer grazing in tall grass. It lazily flicked an ear before lifting its head and stared at him. Dark eyes assessing, judging. Arthur stared back. There was something troubling about the exchange. He didn't know what but... he felt a kinship between them. A sort of bond that made him worry over the fragile life before him.

He knew first hand how easy they were to kill. How many of them had he skinned? Or hauled their limp carcass on the back of his horse to be consumed or sold? An inexplicable fear for the sake of this creature filled him.

The deer blinked and gracefully turned towards the woods. The labyrinth of trees soon hiding it from view.

Arthur chased after it. He followed it's path but the deer was gone. He searched for more tracks but he found nothing.

A gunshot rang out and he frantically chased after the sound.

He woke up wheezing loudly, bolting upright desperately trying to force air into his lungs. Not even enough air to make a proper cough. It took him several heart-stopping moments before he settled down.

But it didn't matter. This was going to kill him one day and he'd deserved it. He thought about all the lives he had ruined and destroyed. The world would be better off without him. He'd leave nothing good behind.

When a cup was pushed in front of him he realized how dazed he still felt. The world quickly came into focus as he saw Abigail kneel down in front of him.

"Are you alright Arthur?" She asked hesitantly.

"Um, yeah." he looked down at the cup and whispered his tanks as he took it.

"Heard ya coughing. Thought you were going to get that looked at."

He sipped the cool water. "Yeah, just haven't had the time."

"Johns worried about ya, so is Dutch but the bastards won't come out and say it."

He smiled noting the absence of mentioning Hosea. HOSEA had been very vocal in his concern for Arthur. At one point Arthur caught him trying to talk Dutch into abducting a local doctor. It was then that he promised to go get looked at in Saint-Denis... he was regretting that now.

"Arthur?"

"I'm fine Abigail, thanks for asking but I should get going." He stifled a cough as he stood. Abigail moved to help him but he shrugged her off. 

"Alright Arthur, but John and Dutch ain't the only ones worried over you."

"Thank you for the water Abigail."

And he left. He planned to make himself scarce in the following few days. He needed time to wrap his head around what was happening before he could spend much time with people who knew him so well. Apparently, he was rattled enough that people were already talking. He didn't know what the rumors were yet but they couldn't be worse than the truth.

He tried not to attract attention as he carried out a few chores and discreetly gathered some provisions. He gave Javier and Bill a wide birth as they chatted with Uncle and Lenny at the fire. Tilly and Mary-beth were in an argument with Miss Grimshaw so they were easy enough to avoid on a good day, and Dutch and Hosea kept to themselves in Dutch's tent. All seemed normal, no one would notice his absence.

That is until John Marston saw him.

"Damn." He growled under his breath wishing he had left sooner.

"You alright there Arthur?"

"Wish people would quit askin me that-" his complaint probably would have carried more weight if he hadn't broken off into a hacking wet cough.

"You get that looked at yet?"

"I will." he wheezed angerly before storming over to his horse. "Now leave me the hell alone John."

"Look, whatever is troubling you, just tell someone. It doesn't have to be me. Just someone, anyone, just get it out in the open." John said, his voice laced with the hint of begging.

Arthur pretended to ignore him as he tacked up his horse but eventually it gave way under the weight of his brother's concern tugging on his conscience.

"John I'm fine."

"a-course you are, you always are. Can't let the great Arthur Morgan be human for a goddam second!"

It probably would have set John at ease for him to turn around and yell back. To fight him. Anything, but he was so drained. His bones ached, a low fever made his body feel chilled no matter how many jackets he wore or blankets he put on.

"M fin Jon." he slurred climbing up in the saddle.

He tried to avoid Johns face as he left but saw it anyway. The unapologetic sadness and worry made Arthur feel like an absolute asshole. Something in his eyes pleaded for Arthur to turn back but he couldn't.

Arthur had originally figured, with more time, he could tell them but apparently, the reverse was true.

With the weight he'd gradually lost over the past few months and the pallor of his skin, he could guess some of them already knew. They just wanted the confirmation from him.

He roamed aimlessly out of camp, thinking on Johns words. "just get it out in the open."

Perhaps John had a point. Perhaps if he did he'd feel better and then it would be easier to face the truth. Looking around he didn't see anyone but the forest. He thought of the deer in his dream and took a deep breath.

"I'm... I, ok, I ain't good at this kinda thing but here goes." The trees seemed to soak up his words and he edged his horse forward gently. "I, I went to a doctor. He looked down my throat, said I got TB. Guess I, well I ain't-a saint, I'm not saying I don't deserve this but things were finally settled." a lump swelled in his chest "Micah is gone, Dutch is back to normal and, I just. I don't wanna leave them. We're happy... I'm happy."

Tears threatened to fall but he chased them off with a few stiff blinks. "Stupid John," he groused. "this was a shit idea." Nothing had changed. Then again, what had he been expecting? Relief? Some miracle to ease his troubled soul? What right did he have to expect peace? He was nothing but a degenerate outlaw.

He felt a renewed disgust with himself as he kicked his horse forward and left the camp behind, never seeing the guard hidden behind one of the trees, watching him as he left.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur had spent days rehearsing what he was going to say. How he would say it, who he would say it to... Mentally sorting through every eventuality and outcome. He spent several more days working out what he should do after that. Should he leave so as not to infect the others? Or stay and make sure everyone had everything they needed? And every day he was away from camp, Arthur considered who he should give his most prized possessions to.

Hosea would get his journal, John would get his hat and Dutch would get his guns. It seemed poetic somehow. That in some unspoken way, they already had a claim on those items.

Hosea had been the one to give him the journal in the first place. His attempt to inspire and encourage a hopeless boy outlaw. His way of letting Arthur know his voice mattered, that he was of importance, someone worthy of being recorded. That he wasn't just a gun. Now that it was filled with his thoughts and drawings, there was a symmetry in leaving it to Hosea. Tho Arthur didn't express himself in words quite as well as Hosea may have hoped, Arthur's secret drawings showed a bit of how he saw the world, what he valued and who he loved. and perhaps even proved that Hosea was right, that Arthur did have more to offer.

John would have his father's hat. Arthur smiled to himself at the memory of a 14-year-old John trying to steal it off his head at random. Though Arthur didn't appreciate it at the time, he knew now John did it to provoke a reaction. His dumbass way of getting attention. But the direct correlation was glaringly obvious as the more time Arthur spent with John, the less likely he was to have the boy take his hat. A day or two of fishing would keep his hat safe for a solid week. Sometimes, when Arthur was feeling like a mischievous child himself, he'd hold off on a fishing trip just to test how fast and how creative John could be in getting the hat from him.

And Dutch, well, Dutch had always had his guns... it was fitting he be able to permanently keep them as his own.

Arthur spent another full week coming to grips with his own fate. Tho he still grew angry with himself as he thought of Thomas Downs, the source of how he had contracted TB. But the restlessness within him was dying down, making way for eventual acceptance... tho admittedly, he still hadn't reached that point yet.

It was reaching the three-week mark when he decided he had stalled as much as he possibly could. It still wasn't enough time for his liking... especially to return without something of value. But he needed to return home and tell them the truth.

He owed them that much.

He felt the tension of the bow as he drew it back.

The buck, unaware it was being watched, silently nibbled on a bit of tree bark. Arthur took note of its smooth features. The innocent dark eyes, bright and young.

He aimed for the head.

Hesitated.

He thought back to the dream. The golden deer, serene and peaceful, content in a way Arthur had never know. Then it made eye contact and Arthur felt like it was an extension of his soul. His spirit looking back at him. It unnerved him, rattled him but also soothed him.

Frustration and guilt rising to the forefront, he dropped the bow with a weighted huff. He hadn't been able to bring himself to kill a deer since his dream and it seemed nothing had changed. So he settled for a ram.

It was mid-morning when he finally made it back to camp. Everything looked normal but he himself felt far from normal. He was bone weary and weak.

"Welcome back Arthur." Tilly greeted as she did the laundry.

"Morn Mis Tilly." He tried to sound like his usual enthusiastic self but it just came out breathy and labored.

"You alright there Arthur?"

God, not this again he thought "Yeah, I'm..." he trailed off, realizing he was falling back into old habits. He swallowed hard. "Um, where's Dutch, I mean, he in?"

"I think he's talking to Strauss by Pearson's cart."

Arthur nodded his thanks and heaved the large ram over his shoulder. He struggled beneath its weight. It shouldn't be that heavy but it was. Perhaps the toll of his sickness was greater than he realized?

Arthur pushed the thought aside and made his way over to the three gentlemen. He rounded the tent and saw Dutch and Strauss had their backs to him, too embroiled in their own conversation to notice his approach. Pearson on the other hand, straightened up as he drew near. Something like relief flashed across his features.

"Pearson" Arthur greeted with a quiet rasp. He coughed a few times to loosen his throat before he began again. "I brought back a ram. Hope there's something you can do with it." He dropped it heavily beside the wagon.

Pearson beamed and opened his mouth to express his usual appreciation but was cut off by Dutch.

"Is that all you brought back?" Dutches words were quiet but held an underlying strain that promised vengeance.

Arthur cautiously turned to meet the barely concealed rage of Dutch. His eyes burned and mouth twitched. Anger so thoroughly engrossing that it must have been simmering for a long time. Arthur, unfortunately, must have inadvertently been the last straw.

He cursed mentally. How had he managed to misread the tense atmosphere that horribly?

"Ah, that's all I..."

"You mean, after weeks of being away... all you bring back is a ram?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Strauss slowly slink away. Wise move on his part.

"Arthur!" Dutch roared like a dam bursting open. " A single ram? When the camp is starving and in desperate need of money, you bring back a single ram?!

"I..." Arthur began, as elegant as John in a lake.

"I need you to quit gallivanting around, going god knows where doing god knows what, when everyone else is working! I sent Micah away because you asked me to and THIS is what I get in return? We need money!"

The words were as harsh as a gunshot. "No Dutch, I just wanted... to tell you..."

"Well WHAT Arthur? "

Arthur looked at Dutch. Really looked at him. He had circles under his eyes, his skin was gaunt and sickly. He wasn't well. His fist shook like he was barely able to hold himself back from clocking Arthur good. Like he deserved.

Arthur knew he couldn't fully comprehend the weight of leadership Dutch carried with him at all times. It wasn't his job. It was his job to ease that burden, and selfishly, he had abandoned his duties. Not just to the gang but to Dutch.

A suffocating shame welled up within him. He had failed spectacularly.

"I wanted to, to... tell you I found a, a... treasure map. Think there's real gold on the other end." God he hoped there was real gold, otherwise it would be better for everyone if he just didn't come back.

But the promise of money caused Dutch to relax, if for a moment. His clenched fists eased open and his shoulders drooped subtly. Not enough for the others to notice, but Arthur was right in front of him.

"Good" Dutch said. His words dripping with a false bravado that normally wouldn't have been noticed. Dutche's facade of control was crumbling and the underlying struggle was shining through. Arthur felt an extra twinge of guilt.

And in that moment he resolved to never tell Dutch or anyone the truth. He would work hard from now on. He'd give everything he could to his family. Giving his last full measure of devotion.

A calmness fell over him as he finally excepted his fate fully.

He reached his arm out and gently laid in on Dutches shoulder. The contact startling Dutch into genuine confusion but Arthur offered up a warm smile in response. "It's ok Dutch, you'll work it out. You always do." His words were sincere but also felt a bit like a farewell.

Turning back to his horse he kept his head up high. His family was suffering, struggling, it wasn't a new concept to outlaws but Arthur was seeing things differently now. It was unavoidable, he was going to leave them. But at the very least he could use the last time he had to ease that suffering. There was so much work to be done. He needed to take care of those he loved.

"Arthur?" Lenny asked as he climbed up in the saddle. "You're not going to say for supper? It's almost-"

"Naw Lenny. I've got some work to do. Catcha later then." He tipped his hat. A warm smile graced his face but his blue eyes held a well of sadness.

Lenny watched him go.

"Something's off with him." he said absentmindedly.

"So you've noticed too?" Charles said coming up beside him.

Charles had been gone off and on about as much as Arthur had. Tho he wasn't bringing in the large game he used to. Lenny really didn't know what Charles had been up to these past few weeks but Dutch seemed to view his constant absence as one less mouth to feed so he never voiced a complaint as long as Charles still brought in the occasional funds.

Lenny looked at Charles who focused on Arthur as he disappeared like smoke through the trees.

"Lenny, I'll need your help with a job. If you're interested."

"Sure what is it?"

Charles nodded walking over to Taima. "Once we leave camp I'll tell you."

They swiftly tacked up their horses in silence. Charles was never a verbose person but this was different. He looked, worried. As they left camp they kicked up into a gallop, passed the railroad tracts and turned east.

"Alright," Lenny said breaking the silence. "what's the job?"

"We need to get something from Saint-Denis." Charles low voice murmured.

"Um, ok. Sure what is it?"

"The cure for TB."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be based on historical fact... If you recognize names in my following chapters... add a SPOILER WARNING to your comments. 
> 
> Like I said in Chapter 1, trust me, trust the tags and YES I have done my research. No, this still isn't going in the direction you think it is. and I won't say anything else cause I don't want to spoil anything myself... and I'm REALLY bad at keeping secrets.
> 
> Also, Chapter three and four will take a bit of time because of the amount of research involved. I'm going for historical accuracy here.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur pulled himself up the narrow incline of the steep cliffside. The drop below was perilous but according to the map, ahead of him was gold. He struggled to maintain his footing when a rough cough caused a dizzy spell and for a moment he feared he would teeter over the edge. Eventually, his breathing calmed and he crouched down to reach into a crack on the underside of the cliff.

His fingers brushed dirt and stone, gliding blindly across the surface until he bumped into cold smooth metal. He pulled the object out to find a gold bar. Worth about 500, going by the size and weight. He checked the crevices for more bars but only found the one.

As he made his way back to his horse he scowled at the small treasure. 500 was nothing in the long run. He needed something bigger. An amount that would stabilize the gang for a long time. He only knew of one place to get that kind of money and only one person he could trust to help him get it. He nudged his horse forward and galloped away from the setting sun.

...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

"How long have you know?" Lenny asked watching the flames of the campfire leap up into the night sky. A sharp crackle of wood sent sparks climbing up into the air like they could disappear into the heavens and become stars.

"I overheard Arthur talking about it just before he left camp. Before he was gone for almost a month."

"Any chance you misheard him?"

Charles shook his head and added another log to the fire. "I've been traveling around looking for cures ever since. Treatments facilities, that kind of thing. In all my searching the most promising is going to be in Saint-Denis but only for a few days." Charles sighed, doubt seeming to cloud his thoughts.

"And?" Lenny encouraged.

"And, it's a German scientist named Robert Koch. He's doing a demonstration in the city to prove he's cured TB."

"A lot of people have made claims like that. Charlatans every one of them. And the treatments turned out to be more deadly than the disease. What makes this guy so special?"

"Well for one, his research helped cure polio and anthrax. He, well he claims he's cured TB."

"He sounds promising," Lenny said tentatively "But judging by your reluctance and lack of excitement, I'm guessing there's more you aren't telling me."

Finally, Charles looked over to Lenny. His dark features lit in the warm glow and a spark of fire caught in his eyes. Lenny realized that despite how quiet Charles was, in truth, he was livid. "He's the best chance we have and he was chased out of Europe for saying he had a cure for TB, when he didn't. If the man is a fraud, then Arthurs fate won't change. If he isn't, then we can cure him."

Lenny swallowed dropping his gaze.

"And if he is a fraud." Charles continued. His low voice filled with righteous vitriol "Then he's the worst kind of man. He's thrived off the desperation of the sick and suffering. Gained fame and fortune from their pain. Exploited theire loved ones and given false hope with his lies."

His words hung in the air, heavy and forlorn. Lenny said nothing, just silently contemplated the likelihood that a cure simply didn't exist. That they were chasing unicorns. That Arthur really was going to die.

"Alright, what's the plan?" He said after a moment.

"Well, I doubt we can afford the cure, fake or not. But he's coming to Saint-Denis to do a demonstration. I say we do exactly what Hosea had suggested months ago."

"What's that?"

"We kidnap the doctor. If he admits he doesn't have a cure, then we do the world a favor and we kill him. If he does, then we bring him back to camp, cure Arthur and the doctor will have the benefit of a happy customer before we let him go."

..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

"Mister Morgan. How lovely to see you again."

The blond sheepishly averted his gaze. Sister Caldéron was rather fond of the gruff cowboy. He had a tough air about him. Something wild and hard, yet the smallest genuine compliment would disarm him quite effectively. Like a wolf enjoying a scratch behind the ears.

"Do you, um. Have a moment? I kinda have a favor to ask. If you'd be willing that is."

"Of course Mister Morgan." She said and ushered him to a nearby wooden bench. The air was brisk despite the hot day. It's soothing breath refreshing to the soul and despite Arthurs sudden cough, it seemed to be good for him.

They sat for a moment. Arthur twiddled his thumbs as he searched for the right words.

"Take your time Mister Morgan."

He smiled wearily. "Time," he whispered solemnly. "Time is not something I have much of anymore, Sister." She studied him as he leaned back and winced. Hand coming up to rub at his chest.

He looked up at her. His eyes, bloodshot and drooping. "I'm dying."

"Are you sure?"

Arthur nodded.

"Oh, Mister Morgan. I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, I deserve it." he smiled as she tisked in disapproval. "I mean it, sister. I'm not a good man. Never have been." he trailed off briefly before looking back to her. "but I've got people I need to look out for. They need money and as I said, I'm a dying man. And I'm not a good man. Got quite the bounty actually."

"What are you asking Mister Morgan?"

"My bounty is for 5,000. I want you to bring me in and collect it." His blue eyes bore into hers. "You're the only one I trust to send the money to the people who need it. All I have is this gold bar to repay you but-."

"Mister Morgan..." She floundered in her surprise. "Your past actions do not mean you should throw your life away."

"I'm not throwing anything away. I'm giving others the chance at a better life. A chance to live."

"are you sure?"

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will have more to say about Robert Koch as the story progresses. Yes, he is a real person. I will leave links to my research (or at least the videos) at the end of the story because giving out that right now could spoil the ending.
> 
> For that reason, I don't recommend looking him up at the moment.
> 
> Also, Koch never came to the US but I figure since Saint-Denis would be impossible for him to visit... I postulate he could have visited... so it's reasonable to fudge on a few facts.
> 
> I am writing historical fiction here, I'm allowed to do that. You Pinkertons can't stop me.


	4. Chapter 4

Sister Caldéron sat patiently as Arthur Morgan wrote out his will.

He already knew what Hosea, John and Dutch should get so he swiftly wrote them down without thinking much about what those items meant, both to him and them. His best bandoleer would go to Javier, his boots would go to Lenny along with his razor and mirror. His horse would go to Charles along with his bow. Arthur couldn't help but drift off in memory of that time in the snow, Charles with his hand still wrapped from his injury, teaching him to hunt...

Uncle would get the stash of Guarma rum and Fire Whisky, Bill well, Bill could have whatever coat fit him best. His tan leather jacket would go to Jack. Too big for him now but someday...

Arthur took a slow steady breath as he realized he'd never see Jack fit into it.

He pulled off his hat and ruffled his hair hastily, trying to sort out his scrambled thoughts.

He knew he was doing the right thing, he didn't have any regrets or second thoughts, (about that at least) but it didn't make what he was about to do any easier.

He shoved aside the building melancholy and jotted down a few more names and a few more possessions. A part of him was bitter he didn't have enough for everyone. But an even bigger part of him wondered why they would even want his junk. Still, dolling it out between everyone seemed better than leaving the camp with a pile of his things to deal with. At the very least they could sell it.

He sighed heavily setting the pen down.

"I'm finished." he said.

"Are you sure?" Sister Caldéron asked gently. "It looks like you wrote down your material possessions but haven't explained why you have chosen to do what you are."

"And why should I explain that?" he said somewhat testily.

"Because you are doing it for them, don't you think they have a right to know why?" Her words were gentle and Arthur was beginning to think he'd chosen the wrong person to help him.

"You're not trying to talk me out of this are you sister?"

"Of course I am." she said calmly "but ultimately, it is your decision."

He nodded looking down at the pen. "I've never been very good with words. Don't know what to write." he admitted.

"Write what you want them to know. What you wish you could say to them. Fix the bridges that have been burned to ease the plague of regret later on. If you are doing this for them, then say you love them."

Arthur nodded picking up the pen again.

..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Charles and Lenny watched in the shadows as a white stagecoach rolled up to the doctor's office. It's driver hopped down and began tending to the horses. Checking straps and various buckles, giving the occasional pat to each of the four large Draft horses. When he was done he fastidiously brushed at a smudge of dirt that tainted the cuff of his long blue coat marking him as Saint-Denis police.

Lenny took a long drag from the cigarette, his eyes sliding to Charles who glared at the door of the doctor's office.

Koch's demonstration had been going on for the past hour. You needed tickets to attend. So, Charles and Lenny waited outside, waited for the moment when the "good" doctor would make his exit.

Finally the doors creaked open and a well-dressed man in a grey coat walked out, escorted by four more blue-coated officers.

Shit.

Lenny looked at Charles in alarm but the man just shook his head calmly.

They would only get one chance at this and it had to go perfectly.

Koch made his way confidently to the white stagecoach. His deep laugh, somehow, thick with a German accent.

He entered the coach and three officers mounted nearby horses and the fourth joined the driver on the stagecoach.

Charles signaled for Lenny to fall back to Taima and Maggie but remained where he was. Tracking the movement of the coach as it rolled along the cobblestone streets towards the hotel Koch would be staying at.

Lenny worried at his lip as he climbed up on Maggy. Pulling Taima behind him he trotted off to meet up with Charles, as they had planned.

Charles was several blocks away, near the church, when Lenny saw him again. He was still trailing the coach unnoticed. Lenny breathed a sigh of relief as he tampered down his growing anxiety and struggled to appear nonchalant.

The stagecoach had stopped.

Tho Lenny couldn't see it, but he knew a wheel had fallen off someone's cart and the ensuing traffic jam was causing a delay. He knew this because he had been the one to cause it.

He casually looked around at the somewhat busy street. The traffic could either aide them in their escape or ensure their capture. It was all down to Charles's plan and sheer luck.

He fidgeted in the saddle nervously, the stagecoach was still not moving.

It was on his third subtle glance around when he saw Arthur. He was standing up from a park bench handing something to a nun. She nodded to him and then Arthur pulled out what looked like a gold bar. At first the nun shook her head but Arthur gently took her hand and placed it in her palm. She looked close to crying.

A loud shout from Charles pulled his attention back to the heist and with dawning horror, he realized he had missed the signal. Gunshots flew in Charles's direction as he yanked one officer off the stagecoach and decked the other with a solid right hook.

Lenny yelped as he changed forward catching the three officers off-guard and the stagecoach jumped a curb. Whistles called for backup and a woman screamed as he veered right and dashed between two horses and narrowly missed a tree.

Charles steered the stagecoach down a grassy path, racing the horses out of town. Bullets blasted the wood, splintering it into shards around him. One of the horse shrieked horribly as it was shot, stumbling before it managed to find it's stride again.

Lenny reloaded his repeater, covering their escape.

Bullets whizzed past his head as more officers pursued them.

A horse and rider caught Lenny by surprise as it darted out in front of the stagecoach. He didn't have time to turn before the rifle was raised, aiming, point blank for Charles-

A gunshot sounded and the man's chest bloomed in a spray of blood. Lenny whipped around in time to see Arthur Morgan gun down three more, clearing their path out of Saint-Denis.


	5. Chapter 5

Once he was suitably convinced they weren't being followed, Arthur snapped. "Alright! What the HELL was that? Stealing a goddam stagecoach in the middle of Saint-Denis, broad fuckin daylight?!" He'd intended to shout but his voice wouldn't rise to a satisfactory volume. "Charles, Lenny! I thought you had more goddam sense than that!"

"There was no other way around it." Charles defended smoothly, steering the battered stagecoach to a somewhat flat plane of grass as Arthur and Lenny watched for pursuers.

"What? Couldn't find a fancier stagecoach on the road-?" Arthur broke off into a torrent of hacking coughs. The unfinished scathing comment dying in his throat. His wild heartbeat lashing out in his rib cage, not doing him any favors.

One moment he was with Sister Caldéron and the next he was dashing off, barely able to keep Charles's head from being blown off. The thought terrified him to a core he didn't know he had, leaving him jittery and hypervigilant in ways he couldn't explain. He tried to shake off the feeling as he checked Charles over for bullet wounds. Thankfully he found none.

Tho the absence of injuries caused his temper to swell up again. Arthur was about to ride the river Styx for these people and THIS is the dumbass shit they pull?

"We weren't after the stagecoach."

"Well, what in God's name were you after?"

Charles was calm, facing forward and his low voice disappeared beneath the sound of the horse's hoves.

"What was that?"

"We were after the man we believe may have the cure for TB."

Arthur grew ridged with a sharp prickle of shock. Cure? He thought. What cure? Charles wasn't looking at him and Lenny was doing his usual pis poor job of casually looking away. "Who... how did you..."

"When you left camp, just before you disappeared for three weeks. I was on watch."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charles turn to watch him but now Arthur couldn't face him.

He must have looked as dazed as he felt since Charles gently continued. "You mentioned something about it being John's idea."

Arthur nodded, eyes forward, focused between the ears of his horse. "I remember now."

"The cure" Charles went on, not allowing Arthur the time to be embarrassed. "The supposed cure," he amended. "was developed by the man in the in the stagecoach, a doctor Robert Koch."

Arthur eased back on the reins so he could peer into the window of the stagecoach. A balding man in a gray coat, mustache and beard, clutched a large doctors bag. His eyes darting from one place to another, desperately seeking an escape. Arthur nodded his hello when their eyes briefly met.

They drove the stagecoach behind a small cropping of trees before unsaddling to make the mans acquaintance.

Lenny stood on the other side of the cabin to block any exit and Charles and Arthur tried their best to appear non-threatening as they opened the door of the white stagecoach.

The frightened occupant pressed himself against the cushion as Charles climbed inside. "Dr. Koch?" he asked receiving a slow nod. "My name is Charles, we do not intend to harm you we wanted to ask you a few questions." he paused waiting for some indication the man understood him. Receiving nothing but a blank stare, Charles continued. "We've been told you've developed a cure for Tuberculosis?"

The response was spectacular. The man straightened up, vibrato and confidence quickly returning. He set his bag aside and leaned towards Charles, almost threatening. Arthur wanted to yank the man back but he trusted Charles knew what he was doing.

"I am," the doctor said with a remarkably thick German accent. "I postulate you vould like me to cure someone vit this terrible affliction?"

Charles nodded, frowning as the man smiled.

The Doctor looked at Arthur, still in the doorway, with assessing eyes. The gaze its'ef seemed to command a cough from him. Arthur hacked and gasped wetly, leaning on the carriage for support.

When it passed, he checked his palm. Blood.

He looked up as the Doctor reached for a thin pair of round glasses. Setting them on the edge of his nose he looked up again at Arthur. This time, his eyes held a certain gleam. A joy and excitement as he scanned over Arthur, eyes calculating and cunning. He felt a bit like he was being devoured by the intensity of the scrutiny.

The attention left Arthur unnerved, he couldn't help a quick glance to Charles. Charles, on the other hand, was giving a very heated glare to the German. His posture slightly leaning forward as if prepared to pounce.

"So." the German said smugly "You need my help?" It was said with the confidence of a politician and Arthur's wariness twisted into full-on distaste.

He was about to disagree by sending a bullet into his skull when Charles spoke up. "Here is the only deal we are prepared to offer you. You cure him, we let you go. Anything less than that ends with us killing you, you understand?"

Koch's smile dropped as he looked at Charles. "Y-yeas." he said after a large swallow. Arthur felt a bit vindicated seeing how frightened the Doctor was of Charles. He didn't bother to hide his smile as Charles climbed out of the coach.

"We bring the coach to Emerald Ranch, sell it and bring the Doctor back to camp." Charles looked back into the window and the doctor leaned away again. "If you try to run, we will kill you. If you try and fight us, we will kill you and if you call for help, in any way, we will kill you. You understand?"

"Crystal." the doctor murmured fearfully.

The ride to Emerald Ranch was promising in how uneventful it was. The doctor seamed sufficiently cowed from his first conversation with Charles and didn't seem to need his threats renewed as they were paid for the Stagecoach.

They kept away from the roads as much as possible on their way back to camp. The doctor riding with Charles. Lenny kept watch behind them and Arthur trotted along Charles like extra luggage.

They were making good timing, would definitely make it back to camp before nightfall but a constrictive burning in Arthurs' chest cause another bout of rough coughing. It lasted for several seconds and seemed to taper off till something thick and heavy was projected from his throat. He looked down to see his hand painted in blood. Dripping red and glossy... A lot more blood than before.

Arthurs world narrowed as he struggled through his panic to breathe. Each gasp heaving more blood.

Then all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, quick note about Koch's character. I'm not sure what he was like as a person, I'm making that part up to fit the role in the story... tho that role is kinda based on my findings and personal interpretation of his behavior from real life. So, chicken and egg? I'm just saying I could be wrong about him as a person.
> 
> Also, Koch never came to the US. He went to Egypt to study cholera for... reasons (that will come up in the later chapters) but for my story, he never went to Egypt and instead went to the US to continue his research with TB. He was a brilliant scientist and we owe him and his research a lot. 
> 
> I just wanted to add this disclaimer here before I get too much into his character. Don't just hate him because I hate him. Read about him and hate him for yourself.
> 
> Also, Koch says 'I postulate...' in this chapter. It is a direct reference to 'Koch's Postulates'. Something he developed that is still used today. They are the four criteria designed to establish a causative relationship between a microbe and a disease.
> 
> Koch's Postulates  
> 1\. The microorganism must be found in abundance in all organisms suffering from the disease, but should not be found in healthy organisms.  
> 2\. The microorganism must be isolated from a diseased organism and grown in pure culture.  
> 3\. The cultured microorganism should cause disease when introduced into a healthy organism.  
> 4\. The microorganism must be reisolated from the inoculated, diseased experimental host and identified as being identical to the original specific causative agent.
> 
>  
> 
> I am REALLY SORRY I forgot to add a little thing called the ending to this chapter, I am sooo sorry I got ahead of myself. I promise I wont forget next time!!! Please forgive me!


	6. Chapter 6

A shot rang out and Arthur chased after it. He dashed through the dense forest, leaping over fallen trees and rocks. He heard a pained cry and ran faster.

He growled in frustration as he pulled and pressed his way through the thicket. Branches descended upon him, tangling around him, constrictive and painful. Arthur gasped as one large appendage coiled around his throat. He reaching for his knife but he couldn't find it at his belt.

Arthur heard the cry again. A plea he had heard many times before. One born of a non-lethal bullet wound.

He kicked out frantically, tripping himself in the process but somehow he managed to loosen the branches hold across him, tho the vice grip at his throat increased it's suffocating pressure.

He gained his footing again and tried to claw the limb off but it wouldn't budge. He trudged onward, dragging the weight of the branches along with him.

He followed a long wailing sound till he reached a glade and there on the floor of the grassy pasture, was the golden deer.

It thrashed and cried. Moaning and screaming painfully.

Once again Arthur felt a familiar kindship to the Animal. Bound to it on some spiritual level.

He tried to walk towards it but the branches held him back.

The animal continued to struggle, blood from a wound at its throat coated its thick fur.

The deer looked up at him. Its eyes shined dark with an unmistakable plea to aide it. It's fear and desperation contagious and Arthur found himself too engrossed in the turmoil of the deer to notice the roots wind around his legs.

An especially loud scream startled Arthur and a pain at his own throat made him double over coughing. He gasped and cried alongside the deer. The branches increased their hold and slowly began tugging him back into the forest. Arthurs strength was waning but some part of him knew he had to stay with the deer. That being separated would kill them both.

The deer flailed, it's limbs wild and uncoordinated, desperate for a solid purchase so it could stand.

Arthur struggled to breathe as he watched the buck get its feet under it. As it stood, Arthurs vision began to fade.

He heard another cry from the deer. One of fear but this time, Arthur knew it was for him.  
..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................  
Arthur felt week as he slowly regained consciousness. His throat burned and chest felt tight.

Someone nudged his head up and the cool lip of a canteen was pressed against the seam of his mouth. A low foggy murmur encouraged him to drink. After a few difficult sips, he turned his head away. The movement pulled at the pain in his throat.

"... promise..." was the only word he caught before slipping back to sleep.  
..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................  
It was fascinating watching the man struggle to breathe. One moment he was sitting up tall in the saddle. The next, hunched over vomiting blood. His fear was palpable.

Dr. Koch considered himself a brilliant man and many of his colleagues agreed. Throughout his life he had gained a reputation as a foremost authority in a wide array of deadly diseases. From cholera to typhoid, yellow fever, anthrax and Tuberculosis. His awards and accolades were numerous. But Dr. Koch had never had the misfortune of running into men like these before. These were men of action. Wild and uncultured as the American land they lived off of.

Dr. Koch had no illusion that the large black man wouldn't make good on his threat if he let his friend die... but after looking the patient over, he realized there was going to be a problem.

The illness was quite far along and thus any sort of treatment was going to be less effective.

The man was week and frail, whiter now than he was before. The turgor and pallor of his skin lead Koch to believe he had lost weight recently and was in need of hydration.

Having one of the men remove the man's coat, revealed how the sweat clung to the man's body. Long triangular patches of moisture under the armpits, chest and back. The man felt warm to the touch with fever.

About 20ccs of blood coated his hands and lap. Vomiting blood is not a typical symptom of TB but it was not unheard of. As a medical professional Koch found himself genuinely intrigued by his findings but Koch didn't really care... this was an opportunity.

"We need to get him someplace warm and dry. A place with a bed."

"We aren't far from camp." the large black man said evenly.

"No, that won't do. He needs someplace with a bed. Not a pile of unwashed sheets on the ground. I need running water and good lighting."

"All of that can be found in camp." The ignorant man insisted, crossing his arms defiantly.

Of all the arrogance!

"I am the doctor here and I say the man needs a city in which to treat him. Someplace CLEAN. " he spat out with snide confidence. "Or do you want to be the reason he dies?"

He was expecting the other man to back down in the face of obvious facts. To kowtow in the fashion he was normally accustomed to... instead, the man grew angry. Seeming to rise up in stature and his eyes flared in anger. "

"This mans dead body would still hold more value to me than yours alive."

Dr. Koch did his level best to suppress a shiver as he backed away. He had no illusions as to if this man was bluffing. The sincerity certainly caused Koch to reconsider his current mode of escape. Using the man's health as a means to get into town may not be as effective as he hoped.

Begrudgingly he agreed to travel the rest of the way back to camp.  
..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................  
Arthur heard someone saying something but he didn't care. Everything hurt, everything was dark and the voices were far away. He didn't have the energy to focus on them. Arthur just wanted to go back to the deer. It was injured, it needed him... and somehow, he needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter so so short. For the purpose of the flow of the following chapter, I kinda need to call this done. Also, I'm doing a lot of research, medically and historically so it's taking a lot more work to get these chapters done than any of the others. Please be patient with me, I'm trying.


	7. Chapter 7

Charles hollered for help before they even made it to the camp hitching post.

"What the hell happened?" Javier asked frantically looking at Arthur who draped uselessly across Charles back, limp and feverish.

"Just help him down." Charles quipped.

Javier slung the rifle from guard duty over his shoulder to assisted Arthur down from the horse. Tho Arthur had lost several pounds, his dead weight flopped heavily into Javier and the smaller man struggled to hold him up.

"Charles?" Hosea asked, his voice sharp and demanding. The lantern he held, casting long shadows on his face making him look much older than he was.

"It's." Charles didn't feel it was his place to tell the others about Arthur's diagnosis but as Dutch and Miss Grimshaw neared, he realized there would be no way around it.

"Arthur has TB." he said simply. The weight of those words had a unanimous effect on those around camp. Tilly gasped sitting up from where she lay on her bedroll. Hosea's impatient expression swiftly morphed into the stricken face of a father focused solely on his son.

Dutch's stride hitched momentarily as he crossed the camp before speeding up. A look of utter shock contorted his features. Miss Grimshaw abruptly halted before turning back to, presumably to retrieve some medical supplies from the wagon.

Hosea and Dutch reached Arthur and carefully pulled him away from Javier. Each grabbing an arm to carry their son to his bed. Charles hung back, watching the toes of Arthurs boots drag two parallel trails behind them.

Arthur groaned weekly as they hauled him onto his cot. A choked cough followed by a moist crackling sound in his chest before he settled again. He murmured something in his sleep, tho he never regained consciousness.

"Are you sure it's TB?" Hosea asked placing the lantern on the bedside table, not looking away from Arthur.

"He's been coughing and vomiting up blood." Charles informed them.

"How long?" Dutch demanded.

"I'm not sure. I think the blood is a new development. He, he found out about it a month ago, I believe."

When Dutch spoke again it was a low whisper, something not intended to be said aloud but managed to slip out anyway. "a month?"

"Excuse the interruption but I believe I may be of some assistance." They all turned to find Koch entering the tent.

"And who is this?' Dutch asked looking to Charles.

"I am Doctor Robert Koch, worlds leading authority on Tuberculosis. And I bring with me, a cure." He said triumphantly.

"Cure?" Hosea scoffed dryly but Dutch perked up optimistically and Charles cringed.

"Charles, is this true?"

"It's... possible." Charles felt whatever chance he had to caution against Koch slipping away as Dutch eagerly extended a hand. "Dutch, the treatment may not be very effective. It could kill him."

"He would die anyway." The Doctor interrupted confidently. "His only chance is with my cure. My cure is, after all, why you decided to abduct me after my medical demonstration, correct?"

"Well yes, but-"

Hosea and Dutch turned on him, twin looks of surprise.

"I admire your devotion." the doctor went on. "but had you ever considered simply asking me for help? I am a healer after all. It is my life's work. I assure you sir, If I had known about the plight of this young man, I would have offered my services most readily." he continued turning back to Dutch. "I am a doctor of the highest caliber, trained at the best institutes in Europe. I have several clinics of my own. Tho I disagree with the method in bringing me here, it is unconscionable for me not to offer aid in this gravest of circumstances."

"Dutch, there is something-"

"I thank you, Mr. Smith, for all that you have done. Tho I assure you, doctor, it was done without my knowledge and I apologize for any mistreatment at this mans hand. You have my word, he will be dealt with accordingly."

"It is of no consequence, I completely understand. The desperate do terrible things."

"That is very generous of you Mr. Koch." Hosea said. Voice level and cautions.

"Doctor actually." The pompous man corrected.

Charles internally seethed watching the exchange. He should have known better! He was so focused on getting the doctor to cure Arthur, he didn't pay attention to the fact that Dutch was the perfect mark for Koch. Curse Dutch and his perpetual tendency to latch onto the pretty words of anyone who told him what he most wanted to hear. And Like Micah before him, he would become deaf to any deviation from that idealistic goal. To tunnel-visioned to consider any sort of tempered voice.

As Charles was dismissed from the tent he glared back at the Doctor. His victorious smile directed at Dutch as they chatted amicably. A part of Charles feared he had inadvertently delivered Arthur into the hands of the devil.

..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Miss Grimshaw entered with a cool basin of water and some soaking cloth. She set the bowl down on the nightstand and began folding a wrung out wet fabric to lay gently across Arthur's burning forehead.

"Unfortunately" the Doctor began. "I only have a few samples of Tibriculin with me. If he is to recover at all, he will require a strict regimen lasting several months. It is imperative he does not miss a single dose."

"sounds expensive." Dutch frowned.

"It is, but I invented it and my name carries a lot of weight in the medical community. I could go into town and request the samples be sent over immediately. News of my capture has certainly not reached the sanatorium up north I've been working with. I could have them send it to the nearest city and arrange to have one of your men pick it up?"

"And if you try to report us for your kidnapping?" Dutch asked, tho he was clearly considering what the doctor was presenting.

"You have my word I will not attempt to escape. My primary concern is for my patient."

Hosea couldn't help but notice that this doctor had only casually looked at his 'patient' since entering the tent. Hardly acceptable practice for a dotting doctor.

"And this medicine will cure him?"

"I have complete confidence in my Tuberculin."

"Very well, my youngest is in Valentine right now. He deserves to hear about his brother from me."

"Excellent." Koch readily agreed.

"Miss Grimshaw, Why don't you help our Dr. Koch here get settled in and have Mr. Pearson draw up a list of supplies we will need from Valintine. We leave tomorrow morning."

"Alright, this way sir." She said hastily, obviously not in favor of leaving Arthurs side.

Hosea watched them leave, made sure they were out of earshot before turning to Dutch but Dutch spoke first.

"That man will never be alone with Arthur." His voice trembled with well-disguised rage and Hosea was left staring up in awe at the sudden transformation. Dutch was a real conman. One who had evidently learned from his time as Micah's puppet.

"Dutch, are you sure we can trust him?"

"No, but we have no other choice." He sighed heavily.

"Alright Dutch." Hosea said brushing Arthur's hair back gently, "Tho when you get the chance you should apologize to Charles."

"I will." He said turning to leave. "You keep an eye on our boy, I'm going to find Charles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOSH! this chapter was horrible!. I wrote 1,000 words and my computer decided to update... I hadn't SAVED. So yeah, I wrote this twice.


	8. Chapter 8

Miss Grimshaw watched Dr. Koch like a hawk. So much so, that Hosea had to shoo her away because the last thing they needed was the Doctor catching on they didn't trust him.

They had kept a tight shift all through the night keeping watch over him. All under the guise they were terrified for Arthurs well being. Because sometimes the best con is the truth.

Hosea was just about to relieve Tilly from watching over Arthur when he saw Charles reading a thick book by the campfire.

"Morning Charles" he greeted. His old joints cracking as he sat down.

"Morning Hosea," Came the in a monotone response, not all that much of a departure from his usual tone of voice but Hosea figured it had more to do with how captivated he was in his choice of reading material, whatever that was. The book was laid out flat on his lap. An uncomfortable and impractical reading position, unless you were hiding something, that is.

"What ya got their Charles?" He inquired lazily.

Charles looked around before tipping the book so Charles could see the cover. 'Tuberculosis: A search for a cure by Robert Koch.'

Hosea smiled fondly. Charles had certainly done his homework. "Where did you get that?"

"Had to order it from the general store when I first found out. I got this and a Strand magazine."

"What is a strand magazine?"

"It's a magazine from England, or Scotland, someplace in Europe. This particular issue has a very informative article about, well... about something." he finished coyly and turned a page.

Hosea hummed noncommittally as he warmed his hands, trying to stave off the mornings chill. "You have always been a good friend to Arthur." Hosea began softly, half to himself. "I want you to know it is appreciated. All that you do and all that you have done for him." Hosea smiled wistfully looking down at his palms. "Arthur always made sure to tell people they were appreciated. Don't know who he picked that habit up from. It certainly wasn't me or Dutch."

"I think you're being too hard on your self." Charles consoled. "Arthur well, he may not be what others consider to be a good man but he is certainly a better man than most. He just doesn't know it."

"Are you saying he picked up that habit from us?" he challenged good-naturedly.

Charles just huffed out his nose but remained quiet, attention going back to his book.

"Good morning Gentleman." Dutch greeted. "Hosea, Charles." he nodded to them in turn. Dr. Koch would like to give Arthur a dose of Tuberculin before we go to Valintine. I was wondering if either-"

Dutch didn't need to finish the sentence before Charles was tugging a blanket over his book and on his way over to Arthur's tent.

Hosea and Dutch both raising an eyebrow.

When they entered the tent Dr. Koch was standing with his arms up in the air. Drawing a solution out of a vial above his head. He pushed the plunger back before flicking the syringe, then very carefully, drawing it back to extract whatever amount the doctor felt was necessary.

He looked well practiced. His motions, fluid and familiar. A dance he had performed countless times.

"Are ve all here?" He asked. His German accent thicker now with morning fatigue.

"Yes." Dutch nodded.

Dr Koch leaned over Arthur, momentarily obstructing everyone's view. He pulled out Arthurs' arm. Then swiftly stuck the short needle into the fleshy part of his forearm.

"And it's done" he said. "Now I should let you know, for when we are gone. He may thrash around. Perspire and shout. All this is perfectly normal, I assure you. It is a side-effect of the Tibirutlin. It means it's working."

"Alright," Dutch said, a twinge of nervousness seeped into his voice by accident. "We should probably head out."

The doctor nodded and began strutting towards the horses. Dutch on the other hand stayed where he was. Eyes glued to the slow rise of Arthurs' chest. Slowly his feet began to move, to carry him forward towards Arthur. His hand rested against Arthurs' cheek like he was a child. His thumb lightly brushing, feather light touches that Arthur probably wouldn't feel even if he was awake.

"My boy," he whispered. And Charles had to look away from the tender moment. "Please be here when I get back. Don't give up. Keep fighting son." Dutch gulped. "You are stronger than this. If anyone can beat this, you can... I... I have faith in you Arthur." His voice was raw but remained unbroken.

He turned to Hosea. The two outlaws simply exchanged a look. No need for words. Hosea would watch over Arthur and Dutch would get whatever the doctor needed to cure him.

Hosea took Tilly's seat after Dutch left.

"Well, Mr. Smith. What does your book say we do now?"

"We wait."

"For how long?"

"20 minutes or so?"

"Then what?"

"He will perspire and shake as the doctor said. A peculiar lump will form at the injection site. It will turn red."

"The book said all that."

"No, the strand article did."

They sat in pregnant silence after that. Waiting for the horrible side effect of the cure. Minutes passed and... nothing. He lay unchanged.

Hosea checked his watch time and time again.

"It's been 25 minutes, does this mean it isn't working?" He asked worriedly.

Charles focus that had been on Arthurs breathing was brought back to Hosea. "How long?" he asked, tense with unknown energy.

"25 minutes," Hosea confirmed checking his pocket watch again.

Charles lept up and pulled out Arthurs' arm. His fingers brushed along the skin of his forearm, the area at the injection site.

"There's no bump," He said whispering.

"What does that mean?" Hosea asked, his fear mounting.

Charles looked at him, eyes bright and wide with shock. "The strand article I was telling you about. It said Tuberculin shouldn't be used as a cure. But for confirmation."

"Charles, I haven't read all that you have. For god sakes, speak plainly!"

"It's negative." He smiled. "The tuberculin test is negative. Arthur does not have TB."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, the Author of the Strand magazine article talking about Tuberculin could be more beneficial as a test for TB rather than a cure... was written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Yes, the same guy who wrote Sherlock Holmes.
> 
> Another fun fact. This Tuberculin test is still used today. If you go in and get tested for TB, a small dose of THIS is what they inject you with.
> 
> Here is a link to a youtube video by 'Extra Credit' talking about Dr Koch and his Tuberculin. this was a small piece of my research for this story but it was one of the most entertaining. I will leave links to more as the story progresses.
> 
> Part 1
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XP-WXLsnMjY
> 
> Part 2
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hBgUWnGtxt4


	9. Chapter 9

John was getting fed up with Arthur and his stoicism. He was sick. Everyone could see it. He lifted his shotgun and aimed for the golden deer. Its pelt was in pristine condition.

He aimed for the head.

And for whatever reason, he hesitated.

A shot rang out and the buck startled and fell with a pained cry.

"I got it paw!" a kid yelled. "You see that? I got it."

John lowered his gun but hung back, still hidden in the bushes as he watched the deer thrash and cry. It moaned and screamed painfully as the child ran up and knelt behind it.

It struggled to stand but the kid yanked its head down forcibly. "How much meat do you think it has on it paw?"

"That will last us a couple of weeks I suppose boy. but you didn't shoot it clean. See that's all bad meat now. Ya gotta aim for the head." The father pointed with his rifle but didn't pull the trigger.

The animal continued to struggle. Its blood now covering the boy who held it down.

An especially long scream tore from its throat, desperate and fearful. It kicked out and cried, it's movements weakening.

"Put it out of its misery!" John shouted, standing.

The father raised his rifle and aimed it at John. "Why don't you mind your own business."

The kid let go of the deer and held up his small rifle as well. Mirroring his father's childish vibrato. "Yeah, keep moving!"

John returned their scowl but raised up his hands in surrender. "Fine, take it easy, I'll be on my way."

He whistled for his horse and hopped up quickly as the father shouted something about. "I knew you was a coward."

He heard the kid laugh behind him but John didn't care. He simply picked up his gun, turned towards the grinning duo and shot the deer straight in the eye.

A quick kick to his horse and he was gone. A few shots chased after him but the father's aim was as good as the sons. So he was well out of danger.

He made it back to Valintine with a wolf carcass and a few turkeys. A piddly amount but it would have to do.

He took the few dollars and made his way to the convenience store. Intent on buying some supplies for Jack and Abigail, as well as some things for Arthur. Stubbor fool would have his morning coffee laced with cough syrup if he even tried to refuse medicine from John.

Valentine bustled about its usual humdrum as its citizens went about their day. Builders and neighbors chatting amicably as John passed, head down reviewing his shopping list.

"...Arthur Morgan." someone was saying. "He never gave me their names. Please does anyone know him?"

That caught Johns attention.

"Uh, mam," John asked tentatively. The woman, a nun turned to greet him. "Did you say, Arthur Morgan?"

"Ohh," she said, with enthusiastic relief. "Thank you father." she said, hands clasped together. "you know Mr. Morgan? You are a friend of his?"

"Ahhh, well you could say that. He's kinda my brother."

"Oh, Mr. Morgan. I am so glad to meet you," she said, fishing out a small package wrapped in cheesecloth and twine. "My name is Sister Calderon, I have been trying to return this gold bar to him. He ran off in such a hurry. I didn't have time to give it back to him."

"Uh," John stammered looking at the gold brick. "What'd he give you a gold bar for?"

"Well, for that story I don't think we should be out in the middle of the street. Come to the church, please, we have much to discuss."

The amount of trust the nun had was amazing. John found himself walking beside her holding the heavy brick, absentmindedly considering what outlandish thing Arthur must have done to find it in the first place; let alone why he would give it away over donating it to camp. And to a nun?

They passed the cemetery and entered the old white building.

"Have a set Mr. Morgan."

"Ah, it's Marston." he corrected before his mind caught up with him. "Ah, we are half brothers... different fathers."

"Oh, my apologies Mr Marston."

"no problem, um now about the brick."

"Yes, you see it was in payment for... well" she pulled out a folded piece of paper. "He wrote this for those he loved. I was to deliver it to his family using his name, but he never told me who I should give it to."

"I, I don't understand, lady." John looked at the paper confused.

The nun sighed. "He, I... I don't think it is my place to say and yet... for me to have found his brother, must be a sign. Yes," she nodded to herself. "You see, Mr Morgan was told by a doctor he has Tuberculosis."

John's blood rand cold, Tuberculosis?... but the nun was still talking.

"He said there were those important to him who were in need of funds. He gave me this gold bar and told me it would be in exchange for bringing him into the Sand-Denise police to collect the ransom and send it back to his loved ones."

Horrified was not the right word. Johns' stomach dropped out and a heavy chilling devastation raced through his veins. The new information sending a shockwave through his system and he hat motionless as he mentally process what he was hearing. After a moment for the shock to dissipate, a wave of warm burning anger filled his chest.

Tears threatened to fall as his anger changed to grief. He knew Arthur was stupid but not that stupid... To trade himself for his own bounty?

A gentle warm hand cupped his own and surprisingly John did not pull away. "Mr Morgan is a troubled soul who does not understand that the value of his life is greater than gold to those who love him back."

"He's a fool." John agreed.

"Here." The nun said handing off the paper. "I believe this belongs to you. They are his words. His true feelings for the important ones in his life. Tho he expected them to only be read after his passing, I believe there is still time to teach him his true value."

"Thank you, mam," John said standing. "For everything." he paused "Here," he said handing back the gold brick. "Take this."

"Mr. Marston. That is very generous of you..."

"My brother's life is worth more than this and he needs to learn that." He slipped the gold brick back into her hands, tipped his had and turned to storm out of the church. "He'll learn that when I tell him I gave away his stupid brick."

The nun watched him leave.

"They are very different boys now that Micah is gone," she said to the room. "They have grown so much in such a short time."

"Yes," The Strainge Man said coming out from around the pulpit. "They have both grown in surprising ways. I wonder if others have as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more chapters left.


	10. Chapter 10

Dutch sat up high in the saddle. The doctor behind him as they rode to town. "I apologize for the blindfold Dr Koch. But we don't want you telling people where we are after you're released." he steered the count behind a particularly dense growth of bushes.

"tho I detest it, I do understand it's necessity. Your Mr Smith just used a sack of corn feed they picked up at a farm. So this at least smells better."

Dutch laughed at that. He directed the Count up a small hill before turning under the lip of a rock that ran parallel to the railroad tracks. Valentine was almost in sight. "It should be fine to take it off now, if you'd like." he joked.

"Gladly." the doctor huffed. He looked around squinting till his eyes adjusted to the morning light.

They followed the tracks up to the post office and Dutch hitched the horse before giving a quiet, stern warning to the Doctor. "Remember why we are here."

"yes, yes." The Doctor agreed nonchalantly looking around till his eyes fell on an old blind man holding a cup not far from them.

"A penny for your fortune?" he asked.

"Is that, a real fortune teller?" he approached the man curiously. As tho it was some rare specimen to be examined, not some poor wondering vagabond.

"A penny for your fortune." he asked again, his withered voice directed at Dr. Koch.

"I'm afraid I don't have any money." The German said padding his pockets.

Dutch scoffed. "It's little more than a parlor trick. He knows nothing."

"A penny to see the paths before you?" he asked turning now to face Dutch.

It must truely be a novel experience for the high-society Doctor, since he began turning out his pockets looking for loose change. "Alright fine," Dutch relented. He pulled out a coin and dropped it into the metal cup with a clang. "Now tell him his future."

"It is you who gave the coin, it is you whos future I will see." The blind man explained. "You will soon be tested. Death will bring Death and a most unexpected reunion will bring another."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Dutch gestured to the blind man.

"I see nothing else for you."

"See, I told you it was nothing but hocus-pocus nonsense."

Dutch ushered the doctor towards the post office before he could be suckered into giving away any more money.

"That was fascinating." The doctor said, a schoolboy skip in his step. "I've heard of such people but to find-."

"Hey, I know you!" A stranger said coming up behind them, abruptly halting the doctor's enthusiasm. Dutch froze and he fought back the instinct to pull out his revolver. "You're that doctor from Saint-Denis."

He relaxed enough to turn around and face the man who pointed angerly at Dr. Koch. "The one who did that demonstration. All those people died! You killed them. The authorities are looking for you." He accused, sidestepping around the Doctor like he was contagious.

"I did not kill them. They knew the risks." The doctor defended. Hands held up in surrender as more people in the post office turned to look.

"You said it was a cure." Dutch challenged, his hand itching back to his weapon.

"If they had survived the side effects it would have cured them." He explained, trembling with rising anger of his own.

Dutch slowly unholstered his gun. "My SON took that medicine!" He yelled back. An all-consuming ravenous fury, narrowed his vision. His lips peeled back revealing a toothy Cheshire grin. Tho his gun was held steady with practiced ease, his empty hand clenched and unclenched to the rhythm of his breath.

"It works!" The doctor shouted without turning towards him. The people in the postoffice glancing nervously to each other at his outburst. "I'm telling the truth! It's my life's work. It isn't my fault!" his voice rose loud and frantic. Desperation and madness showed as he looked from face to face trying to convince them he was right. "They all called me a fraud, that I LIED about my work. BUT NO, I am the greatest of my generation! I would have cured ANTHRAX if that French bastard hadn't beaten me to it! AND he did so using MY WORK, he didn't even cite ME! IT should have been ME!" he pounded his own chest to illustrate his point.

Dutch took a half step back, hesitant, as he watched the educated man steadily unravel. The Doctors tone was strong but pitched in hysterics at certain words as he rambled on. "It should have been MY institute, MY NOBLE PEACE PRIZE! I've dedicated my life! And for what? To be chased out of Europe? Have my awards retracted? They took away my life!"

"And what did you take from them?" Dutch questioned. When the Doctor finally turned, he startled at noticing the gun in his face. A bit of sanity came back into his countenance as he stared frightfully down the barrel of the weapon.

"I, I took nothing. All I have ever done is for the benefit of humanity... It, it should have worked." he pleaded. Tho Dutch got the distinct impression it was more to convince himself than anyone else.

"Will it kill my son?" he asked before he could stop himself, realizing he didn't want to face that possible truth so soon.

"I, I'm a doctor, I don't KILL people... but I'm not sure." He looked glassy-eyed and lost without the anger from before. The fight was gone and what remained was the hollow shell of a man who had every reason to achieve greatness and failed. Someone desperate to make right what he had set wrong. He wasn't a con, or perhaps he had just cond himself?

Dutch pushed back a twinge of sympathy for the man as he backed out the door.

He holstered his weapon. A growing sense of dread sat heavy in his chest like pneumonia. Arthur could be dying.

He swiftly passed the blind man as he dashed to his horse.

"Death for death a life for a life." he reminded as Dutch kicked The Count into a high gallop and flew across the countryside at a breakneck pace.

After a few minutes of riding, Dutch became aware of a second thundering beat of horse hooves just behind him. Another rider pursuing him with the same reckless abandonment he was demanding of his horse. He urged The Count on as the rider began to overtake him.

Dutch turned, surprised to find he recognized the two twin scars across the riders cheek. "John!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, Just getting in out of the way, if Dutch had killed Dr Koch he would have failed his "test" and Arthur would have died... not to spoil anything but I literally have a tag that says "everybody lives" for this story... soooo, yeah. Arthur doesn't die.
> 
> Also, To be fair to Dr. Koch, I have taken some artistic license with his story arc. For one, his Tuberculin, didn't really "kill" people, it just didn't save them... tho it did induce "shock" (tho it wasn't called that at the time... it didn't have a name at all in fact. They didn't know what "going into shock" was) and that did kill people, so yeah, the cure did kill people just not directly... um, it was a messed up situation.
> 
> And two, he makes a reference to deserving a Nobel Peace Prize. In real life, he does get one in 1907 (If I remember correctly) He also gets an institute named after him. So, Europ kinda forgives him. Tho because of the Tuberculin "Scandal" Dr Koch would not be permitted to patent any medicines he created. (don't know if it was a lifetime ban or just for a certain amount of time) This is because, BEFORE the ingredients for the Tuberculin were disclosed, Dr Koch was trying to get a patent for the Tuberculin made. His Tuberculin was little more than sugar water... and he was going to make a profit off it... it didn't go very well (as you can imagine) and he took off to Egypt and began working on a cure for cholera.
> 
> So yeah, there is more to this story I didn't even touch on. (Like the fact that his promise of a cure brought infected people to large cities hoping they could be cured and that ended up infecting more people... So yeah, he probably indirectly cause the death of thousands cause he lied... oops.)
> 
> The reason I'm bringing this up is that we do owe him a huge debt of gratitude for his research. (He kinda founded bacteriology.) I think ultimately he did learn his lesson. It does not excuse what he did. and people died in real life because of him... but his life is more than that horrible mistake. Tho for me at least, that mistake is how I will remember him.
> 
> The following are the links to my research material so you can see for yourself. I really recommend watching at least the first one as it talks about Arthur Morgan.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhF0sYqpFJ4
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qu7vGZB8Jkc
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuberculosis
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Koch
> 
> https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/medicine/1905/koch/biographical/
> 
> https://www.biography.com/scientist/robert-koch
> 
> https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/94169435/robert-koch
> 
> https://www.nationaljewish.org/conditions/tuberculosis-tb/history
> 
> There was more research on TB and Dr. Koch but I can't find them, when I do (or more likely IF, I do) I will post them. Also, this list does not include the links I added in previous chapters.


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur couldn't draw enough breath to scream as he felt the branches at his throat twitch and the edges of his vision blinked white.

The deer charged, golden antlers dropped low and plowed into the dark tree as it strangled him. It bleated, loud and frightful, pulling back to rear up and smash its cloven hooves down onto the coiled roots at Arthurs' feet. It roared as it rammed back into the body of the tree. Thrashing and raking it's powerful antlers against the trunk till it's dense bark cracked and splintered off, allowing the prongs to penetrate its flesh.

This time the branches recoiled.

Arthur sucked in a large gasp of air as he tumbled to the ground.

Glancing over, he saw the Deer had skewered the trunk of a particularly menacing looking, craggy old tree. A black ooze seeped from the bark and a rattling whine, like creaking floorboards, groaned out of the tree as it shuttered.

Arthur climbed up on his hands and knees and drew his pistol. He aimed for the hole the deer's antlers had pierced and emptied his weapon.

The branches dropped to the ground, twitching once then lay still.

Arthur sagged in relief as he untangled himself from the trees remains.

The deer walked towards him, looking him over before making eye contact.

A deep satisfying sense of peace passed through him as he gazed back into the dark eye. He got the impression he was being appraised, and most shocking of all, he felt its approval. As tho Arthur lived up to some kind of expectation.

"It's because you have." a man said, drawing Arthurs attention away from the deer.

Arthur stood up on shaky legs, ready to defend himself. The golden deer pressed against him, steadying him as he gained his footing.

"and just who the hell are you?" Arthur asked the newcomer, none too pleasantly, tho under the circumstances he felt justified.

The strange man hummed looking away. "Someone who knows you rather well. You and those around you."

Arthur hackles rose defensively and the deer next to him planted it's feet firmly and lowered it's head threateningly.

"You misunderstand me. I do not mean you or those around you any harm."

"Then what the hell are you doing? and what the hell was that?" Arthur gestured towards the perverse tree.

"The manifestation of a very powerful force in your life. One quite bitter about the changes that have been made."

"You're not making any sense, friend"

"Then I shall speak plainly. You, Mr Morgan were fated to die by Tuberculosis or by Micah's hand. It was your destiny... but" he trailed off as he took sweeping steps over to the dark tree. "But you have quite literally beaten fate. Not just you but the others. By becoming free of the toxin called Micah you have all grown in surprising ways."

The man turned back to Arthur. "You selflessly chose to give your life for others. Your brother chose to value life over gold and your father chose to turn his back against revenge. You have ALL chosen a different path... and as a result, your destiny is now changed. It is wide open to you and yours, Mr Morgan. Your fate is your own."

"I don't understand, what's that mean?"

"You will... There is something coming, Mr Morgan. Something that will change your life forever."

Arthur was stymied by the vague response. The deer huffed next to him, sharing the sentiment.

"Look mister, I've been vomiting up blood, I'm fairly sure that isn't something people just shrug off."

"Under normal circumstances perhaps but the doctor was wrong about the TB."

"Wrong? Then what do I have?"

"There isn't a name for it yet. In the future, it will be called Mallory-Weiss."

"Mallory?"

"If it helps, some 80% of those with it are men."

"It doesn't but thanks."

"Mallory-Weiss is also called gastro-esophageal laceration syndrome," he went on. "refers to bleeding from a laceration in the mucosa at the junction of the stomach and esophagus. It's caused by excessive drinking, smoking, vomiting, coughing and shouting. This is all coupled alongside a persistent flue that turned into pneumonia. Together it exacerbated your symptoms and the doctor confused your condition with TB. But it will pass and you will heal."

Arthur's brow pinched up in confusion "If it's caused by drinking how come Uncle don't have it?"

The man chuckled, "I quite enjoy you Mr Morgan. I know you don't understand me now but it doesn't matter."

The man looked to the deer before smiling and walking away. "It's an appropriate reflection of you Mr Morgan. They are providers of sustenance and warmth. So many people are able to survive because they exist. They are gentle and calm but also wild and capable of great ferocity. As an artistic outlaw, this duality suits you rather well."

Arthur looked to the deer. Something in him preened, a pride at somehow belonging to this animal.

"Great things are on the horizon Mr Morgan but first, you need to wake up... the others are waiting for you." by the time he looked back, the strange man was gone.

.............................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Arthur heard a soft voice drolling on in the rhythmic pattern of reading. A soothing deep tenner voice he recognized as soon as his foggy brain focused on the meaning of each word.

'Hosea?' Arthur tried to say but no sound came out. Just his lips moving. The voice continued reading, undisturbed.

Arthur opened his eyes slowly and swallowed.

That had been a mistake, he gasped as his raw, dry, abused throat began to protest his movements.

"Arthur?" Hosea asked quickly, through the inhale of a gasp. As much as he wanted to, Arthur couldn't respond. His throat burned with a dry fire. His hand rubbed at his neck almost expecting to find a long gash across his trachea.

"Lenny, get Charles." A slight tremble in Hosea's his voice gave away just how worried he was.

He heard a shuffling as someone got up and left the tent.

Arthur tried to speak again but a warm hand cupped his face, startling him from the next attempt.

"shush shush, son, don't speak. It's alright. You don't need to say anything."

Arthur settled for nodding and Hosea seemed to relax.

"You're going to be alright, son. The fever has passed. The doctor was wrong, you do not have Tuberculosis. You're going to be ok. You'll be just fine, my boy," The words felt rehearsed like a mantra. Something Hosea had been repeating to himself over and over again. Tho the sentiment was sincere enough that Arthur relaxed and believed him.

The tent flapped open again and Charles and Lenny came into view.

Charles smiled down at him, a relieved pleasant smile. "Hows he doing?" he asked Hosea.

"Um, he looks to be having some difficulty speaking."

"that's understandable, does it hurt to nod?" He asked.

He shook his head no

Charles helped prop Arthur up and motioned for Hosea to hand him the cup of water on the nightstand.

"I've been doing a lot of reading lately." He explained holding up the cup to Arthurs chapped lips. "and it turns out boiling water is a way to make it safe to drink. Tho you don't have to worry, it's cooled down since we boiled it." He slowly began pouring a few meager splashes into his mouth. "Easy." He murmured, "Not too much."

It was too much but also not enough at the same time. It burned as he swallowed but also soothed the firey cracks that lined the inner walls of his throat. It felt heavily despite the pain.

Charles allowed him a few more sips to lubricate his throat, enough where Arthur felt he could attempt to speak again.

"Howdy fellas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Uncle had Mallory-Weiss a few years back and it was the freakiest thing. Even now we don't know much about it but it is real. It was first "discovered" in 1929 tho it obviously existed long before that. There still isn't much you can do from a treatment standpoint. Mallory-Weiss has a very good survival rate... That said, Boerhaave syndrome is a lot like Mallory-Weiss but it only has about a 25% survival rate even with surgery. The only difference, that I can find (between these two) is Boerhaave syndrome is a rupture in the esophageal wall. Mallory-Weiss is a cut... we don't know how the cut occurs and why it sometimes becomes a rupture. Or why some people don't ever seem to get it. but I just figured I'd share.
> 
> Here's a link to some Mallory-Weiss info for those who are intrested
> 
> https://www.healthline.com/health/mallory-weiss-tear
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mallory%E2%80%93Weiss_syndrome
> 
> Boerhaave Syndrome
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Esophageal_rupture


	12. Chapter 12

"First off I want to say I love you, son. But my god, I wanna slap you so hard you'll need the human equivalent of a horse revive." Dutch paced around the small area of Arthurs tent like a caged lion. Poised and tense in equal measure. "going to Saint-Denis to trade yourself? By that logic, I should do the same. My bounty is twice what yours is!"

"Dutch, no." Arthur said immediately, sitting up on his bed.

"You hypocrite! You can't expect to... we can't lose you, son. You're worth more than all the money in blackwater." He said it for a bit of levity but it seemed to really hit home for Arthur. He turned his head and blinked away tears, pursing his lips to hide the tremble.

"I'm, I'm sorry Dutch. I just thought it would have been better for everyone to have the money. Especially since I thought I was dying. I thought it'd be enough to give everyone a decent chance at a new start. I saw it as something I could leave for you all. A way to keep you safe."

"The government prints new bills every day, Arthur. But YOU," he broke off hiding tears of his own and Arthur refused to look. "Son, if it turned out you had TB, I still wouldn't let you go through with that." His voice quivering at the thought."Knowing that you died that way, at the end of a rope, alone. I can't imagine, I don't want to imagine. Arthur... You're my boy."

"I'm sorry Dutch." Arthur hung his head and lay back down. Dutch felt like shit. Guilting Arthur wasn't what he wanted. He wanted him safe, he wanted him happy. But all the pressure he'd been putting on Arthurs young shoulders was taking its toll. Arthur carried the weight of the world, or at least their little corner of it. Arthur was the pin that held the entire camp together, the central key point they all pivoted around.

"I... have been a terrible father," Dutch admitted. "I have managed to raise you into believing you are expendable and you are not." Dutch breathed deeply "A new start at the cost of your life would drive me mad, I'd jump off a cliff."

The sincerity in Dutches words left no room for denial, Arthur didn't even try.

"You are loved far more than you know." Silence filled the tent and Dutch and Arthur still refused to look at each other. Dutch pretended not to see Arthur wipe his face.

"John met your nun accomplice in Valintine." Dutch continued, raising his tone to something a bit more friendly. "She told him about your little plan." Dutch laughed without humor. He finally sat down on the empty chair beside the cot. He felt heavy, drained and tired. "He gave it back." Dutch whispered, half to himself.

Arthur turned to look at him, perplexed.

"The nun, she gave the bar of gold to John and he gave it back." Dutch's eyes were soft as he spoke, a ghost of a smile as he looked out through the gap of the tent entrance. "He held five hundred in gold and gave it away because he wanted his brother to know he was worth more."

Dutch finally turned to face Arthur. "I certainly didn't teach him that but I wish I had."

"You're not mad at him?" Arthur asked tentatively.

"Under the circumstances? He absolutely did the right thing." Dutch huffed a bit. "And in doing that, he proved to be a stronger man than I. I who have led my children to believe their worth is dictated by the government. An arbitrary amount Uncle Sam is willing to bribe others to apprehend them for." Dutch's voice twisted in destain as he spoke, shaking his head sadly. "I promise Arthur, I will make this up to you. Tho to be honest, I will probably fail... Since Micha left, I've become more aware of my own flaws. And how I treat you is a big one. I don't have the right to ask Arthur, but will you give me a chance to make things right?"

"Of course Dutch, always."

Dutch smiled fondly.

Someone outside the tent cleared their throat and both men turned to see John peaking through. "Sorry to interrupt, I'll go.-"

"No," Dutch said hastily, I've been here a while and I'm sure Arthur is sick of me."

"I'm fine Dutch." Arthur assured.

"No, I think you boys need a moment to talk things through yourselves. I'll check in on you later Arthur." Dutch promised. As he passed John he made sure to clap a firm hand on his shoulder, a show of strength and approval.

"How ya feeling?" John asked sitting in the chair Dutch had just vacated.

"Fine, much better." He answered honestly.

"I'm glad." John said... and Arthur was mortified to see him pull out a familiar folded scrap of paper. The page he had given to the nun. He wanted to dig a hole and bury himself.

Ignoring Arthurs childishness, John began to read. "John, It occurs to me I never officially forgave you for running away. Nor did I explain why it was so difficult for me to welcome you back. Tho to you it may seem my anger was unfounded, I have only myself to blame for misleading you. Now that I am dying I have no reason to keep the truth form you. I had a son." Johns' voice broke around the word but he cleared it with a stiff cough before continuing.

"I admit, at first it was a frightening notion to be the father of a kid. Someone who would be permanently stained as the bastard son of an outlaw. I had condemned an innocent and it would always be my responsibility for whatever misfortune fell on him due to his association with me. I felt guilty long before he was born. But the moment I saw him I fell impossibly in love. He was my child. Blue eyed boy we named Isaac, he was so small. Tiny little fingernails and soft fuzzy little head. I would destroy the world a dozen times over to save my boy form any law or gang that threatened him."

"I had spoken to Dutch and Hosea at length for ways to keep them safe. Should they come travel with us or would it be safer for me to leave them alone entirely? Perhaps it would have been but I was selfish, and cutting all ties was impossible for me. In the months since Isaac's birth, I grew to need to see them. A need as important as air. I also would not allow them to join us, as I feared it would be more dangerous to travel with a bunch of hucksters. So, with Dutche's permission, I had a house built just for them. Every month I would come back with food supplies and more money. Whatever they needed."

"For the first time since riding with Dutch and Hosea, I began to dream of settling down. Start a ranch. Rase horses and teach my son to shoot tin cans off the picket fence. I began to dream of a home. But I realized this all too late."

"One day I rode home and found two crosses out back. John, it broke me in ways I haven't been able to heal from. I lost the most important thing in my life and there was no way of ever getting it back. And when you disappeared for that year, I saw you walk away from everything, everything I had stolen from me. The lives I still mourn for to this day. I find it difficult to put into words how angry I became with you. YOU had EVERYTHING, and you walked away."

"John, I love you. You are my brother in every way that matters. But don't make the same mistake I did. Value what you have now because it is not permanent. The reason I have been so angry with you is because I am afraid you will one day wake up to find you have destroyed the greatest thing you have ever had. I am afraid you will live with the same pain I do. And I would not wish that on anyone. It has come to define the very pits of hell for me. As I simply can not imagine a greater pain on any plain of existence."

John sighed, wiping tears from his eyes as he stared at the floor. Arthur sniffed, not even caring he was openly crying. An old wound, lanced. Splayed open in ways it hadn't in over a decade.

Time had not eased this wound. It still felt like it did the day he found their graves.

"Arthur," John said gently, refolding the letter. His voice cracking again. "I need you to look at me."

After a moment of panting breaths, struggling to steady himself, Arthur turned to face John. His brother's eyes puffy and red, his mouth pinched tight and tears streamed down his face. "Arthur." He repeated, tho this time it was whispered. "I need you to understand something, something I've never be able to get you to understand before. You need to look at me and not look away as I speak ok?"

Arthur could only manage a nod.

"Arthur, you are not alone. You are my brother and best friend. Don't lock me out of your life by keeping these secrets anymore. Micah, the TB... your son!" his face contorted with raw pain as it became physically difficult to speak. "I am your family as much as you are mine! I love you, Arthur. Don't push me away anymore. You said in your letter, it is how you define hell... " John gasped "You've been living this hell in silence for YEARS." John leaned forward and grasped Arthur in a tight embrace. "I can't imagine what I'd do if I ever lost Jack, he's become so important. I don't even know how to express it and I keep messing it up... but Arthur, I'm a father too, I don't want to imagine what losing him would feel like but I know I'd be devastated." He gasped as a suppressed cry got caught in his chest.

"And now to learn our family should have been bigger, that I should have had someone calling me 'Uncle John' all this time. God Arthur, I'm so sorry." His voice growing soft as it choked off again. "You don't have to go through this all alone, Arthur. Let me in... you're not alone."

Arthur hickuped and sobbed into his brother, pulling him tightly as the love from his brother began to wash his festering wound. Tho it didn't heal him, it couldn't close a wound so great, the scars would always exist... It did make him feel permission to grieve in ways that broke open his soul and allowed for the promise of recovery.

He cried until he was physically spent, the fabric beneath him wet with tears. Tired and limp, still not completely recovered from his sickness, he saged against John. Eyes already closed and his breathing gradually evening out. "I miss them so much, John." he whispered, and John could do nothing except hold him tighter. They stayed there till he finally fell asleep.

When he woke, the sun was shining and John was asleep in the chair next to his bed. Arthur couldn't help a fond smile play across his face. Perhaps Dutch was right, he had no idea of just how much he was loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this was originally going to be the last chapter but I just couldn't end such a long story on such a sad note. Next chapter will complete this story, but I've already started on Part three. It won't be as long as this one but so far it is my favorite of this series. To put it into perspective, I did not cry writing this chapter, I cried writing chapter one of Part three. I'm loving it and it WILL have a very happy ending.
> 
> Hope you all consider reading it and if you do, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I am a very selfish writer. I write the stories I want to read. Part three is a story I've wanted to read for a long time. Perhaps some of you can guess what is going to happen but even if you do, I hope reading it will still be enjoyable.


	13. Chapter 13

Cloaked by the morning mist of the forest, Arthur had managed to slip past Miss Grimshaw. His breath billowed out around him as he sunk low to the ground. Peering out over at Bill on parole. He was almost out of camp, he just had to wait fo-

"And where do you think you're going?" A low voice whispered in his ear.

Arthur swallowed back his shout of surprise and looked to glare at Charles.

"I've been sleeping all day." He spat in a harsh whisper, tugging Charles into a lower, more discreet, couch.

"You've had good reason to be sleeping Arthur, you've been sick."

"I just wanted to stretch my legs. That's healthy, right?" A bit of unintended defensiveness seeped into his tone and he turned back to monitor Bills path on watch duty.

Charles sighed. "I understand it's frustrating. You've been cooped up. But you've only been awake for two days. We just want to make sure you're alright. You gave us quite a scare."

"If you want to make sure I'm ok then come with me." He offered, extending an olive branch without taking his eyes off Bill. "Now's our chance." Without waiting for a response, Arthur darted out, prowling deeper into the forest.

Arthur paid close attention to the second set of footfalls behind him as he left the camp behind.

They had only wondered a short distance from the usual parole path when Charles started in on encouraging Arthur to sit and rest for a bit. He motioned to a large tree but for whatever reason Arthur just didn't feel secure leaning against it, so they compromise by stopping to rest just beyond a large boulder.

The morning air had a nice chill to it, the waving breeze not uncomfortable but refreshing. The sweet air wrapping around them leaving them feeling young and satisfied as the crickets sang for the rising sun.

They sat comfortably, shoulder to shoulder. Arthur fiddled with his hands briefly, a nervous gesture Charles had seen on occasion but was still rare. Tho Charles didn't want to, he considered leaving to give Arthur some space but finally, he spoke...

"Eh, Charles, I've been meaning to say 'Thank you', since you saved my life."

Charles pondered the weight behind those words. "Arthur, You didn't even have TB. So in the end, I didn't do anything."

"Actually you did. Far more than you know." Arthur said somewhat hesitant. "... you see, the reason I was in Saint-Denis was to... well, ransom myself for my own bounty. I was in the process of arranging to have the money sent back to camp." He looked down as if ashamed. "If it wasn't for your kidnapping Dr Koch." he trailed off, eyes going a bit foggy. "I would have made a terrible mistake, I know that now. I just want to say thank you, for all that you did and tried to do. And not only that, Hosea said you really went above and beyond for me."

"I don't know if I'd say-"

"You kidnapped a doctor, broad daylight in Saint-Denis and became the camp doctor in less than two months... and that's just the stuff I saw."

Arthur looked up at Charles, eyes catching the veiled moonlight from the fog in ways that made them appear to glow. "Lenny told me you had the entire camp working for you. Even Dutch." he teased. There was a softness in his eyes and Charles did his best not to gasp.

"Would'a loved to have seen that." Arthur whispered fondly. "Thank you. I've never known someone to go to such lengths for me."

"How do you mean?" Charles asked, "surely Dutch, Hosea and John have-"

Arthur leaned further against the bolder, stretching his back as he suppressed a yawn and shook his head. Charles scowled suspiciously, mentally preparing to convince the stubborn outlaw to go back to bed.

"Of course they have done more for me than I ever expected or deserved-"

"You do deserve it." Charles chastized gently. "and someday we will make you understand, you deserve happiness."

Arthur looked lost as he swallowed, "What I mean is, when you found out I was dying you, you... I don't know, you didn't give up. You got books and you studied, you found ways around to... Charles, for god's sake, you found the cure to TB! Even if it wasn't real, it was the closest thing we have to one on the entire planet. I'm confident that even if I had TB, you would be there for me in ways the others wouldn't be able to."

Arthur was leaning forward, eager to make Charles understand where he was coming from. "Sure the others would try to help me but you are the one that did. I just want to say, Thank you."

Charles returned the soft smile and Arthur glanced down to watch the movement of his lips. The air around them grew tense and that lost expression came back into Arthurs eyes. "I just want you to know," he licked his lips as he continued. "I'm very grateful. If there is anything you need, all you have to do is ask, alright?"

"I know Arthur." Charles said softly, his heartbeat sounding loudly in his own ears.

Arthur forced himself to lean back.

"Besides, John can't keep a secret for two seconds. You kept my secret for an entire month. Whether I was right or wrong is debatable-"

"No it's not, you should have told us." Charles interrupted, seriously. He didn't want Arthur to feel guilty but it wasn't right that he continues with this flawed reasoning. "It was your right to tell them but it was their right to know. You are our family, Arthur."

Arthur looked sufficiently chastised. Perhaps thinking on his conversation earlier with Dutch and John, Charles didn't know. "We all care for you, Arthur. Very much."

Arthur smiled at his words. "You do?" he asked as he turned to Charles, something important hanging on the edge of those words. An unspoken meaning that made Charles nod encouragingly.

"I-"

"ARTHUR MORGAN!" Susan Grimshaw shouted, not caring she was waking up the entire camp.

"Shit." Arthur cursed and Charles laughed. Arthur could face down Pinkertons and O'Driscolls but have him face a rabid Miss Grimshaw and the large man turned into a feral cat on the run from a coyote.

"We should probably be getting back."

Arthur nodded, hanging his head and that garnered another chuckle from Charles. He leaned over and rested a hand on Arthurs' shoulder. "Come on, we'll tell her you needed to go for a walk." he smirked.

"You wanna tell her this was your idea?"

Charles just laughed loudly, his mirth infectious Arthur continued. "I'll pay ya, Charles."

"You don't owe me anything, Arthur. I'll always help you." There was a sweetness to his voice that left Arthur glad he decided to go on this little morning expedition, Miss Grimshaw be damned.

The End... tho, this Arthur's story is continued in "The Secrets the Forest Keeps from us."  
(yes I realize these titles are getting a bit ridiculous but I'm not ready to abandon them yet)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, firstly I'd like to remind everyone that there will be a part three for this. Tho that will only end up being around 5 chapters. I've really enjoyed writing this and I know there are a lot of errors but I have a beta reader now so these chapters will be edited and reposted.
> 
> Secondly, I want to thank all those who commented liked subscribed. It really kept me going and encouraged me to do more research etc. knowing you all were invested.
> 
> special shoutout to Angelicasdean, who brought up several things I had intended to bring up again but forgot. (like the note Arthur gave to the nun) without that, I would have missed key moments for the entire fick.
> 
> and to Camath and Rospergs, who encouraged me through this entire lengthy story. Up until now, my longest story was 7,000 words. You really kept me motivated to finish this project.
> 
> AND rokkenbosche, Part 2 wouldn't have even been written if it wasn't for your stories. Reading your amazing work inspired me to write the story I wanted to read. Thank you for your support.
> 
> Finally, thank you to those who read this entire thing and took the time to at least skim my notes. You are the real MVP. Thank you for your interest. I really appreciate it.
> 
> Now on to the next!

**Author's Note:**

> (Spoilers) Read the tags, this isn't going where you think it is.


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